Revelations
by lone-sehlat
Summary: Wilson realized House's importance to him.


**Revelations**

_(Done for Wilson_fest. Prompt #161 House/Wilson: Wilson dreams that House dies as a result of the bus accident instead of/with Amber and realizes House's importance to him.)_

Next to burying Amber, the most difficult thing Wilson thought he had ever done was leave House at Mayfield. He consoled himself by convincing himself that God, the Universe or fate had already thrown their worst at him and he had survived. In theory, it sounded good and worked, up until the evening he got a phone call from House. Just a small favor, find some information for him, help him get out of this situation that he was wrongfully in, but as Dr. Nolan had told him to do, he had refused and hung up the phone. He had been preparing himself for such a call or letter since Nolan's warning, but as he set his phone back down on the coffee table, he found himself wearily sinking onto his sofa, stomach churning and his hands trembling slightly.

House had sounded so much like his old self- trying to wheedle Wilson into another scheme. Nothing could possibly go wrong, House was in the right, this was the best course of action, come on Wilson they aren't treating me fairly…. It sounded just like him, but this time there was an undercurrent of desperation, of fear in House's tone that shook Wilson deeply. He had refused House though, hung up the phone and determined to stick by that decision and for the first time in his entire relationship with House, he had said no and meant it. He realized he had been wrong before, always caving into House, always enabling him. Pushing the 'end call' button on House, who would, no doubt view that action as Wilson abandoning him as most people in his life had, was at least the second, if not the first, hardest thing Wilson had ever done.

He sat on his couch, trying to calm himself for a long time, unable to silence the little nagging voice that kept telling him he had failed House again. He knew that in reality he hadn't, that Dr. Nolan was right, that House had issues far beyond Vicodin toxicity and addiction that needed to be addressed and this would most likely be the last chance House had to address them or was the last chance with any motivation to do so. He hadn't ever heard that scared, lost tone in House's voice though and that was what kept gnawing at his gut. He picked up his phone several times, the thought of calling and checking in, but he put it back down each time. He knew House had most likely broken the rules to call him and Wilson didn't want to get him into trouble. Besides, what would he say to Dr. Nolan? House wants me to find dirt on you so that you will be forced to release him? He shook his head. There was nothing he could do, except trust that Dr. Nolan had House's best interests at heart and would do a better job than he had ever done. Arriving at that conclusion, however, did nothing for his stomach or his nerves.

It was late when Wilson pulled himself up off the couch. Digging through his medicine cabinet, he found an old bottle of Xanax that his shrink had prescribed during the days after Amber's death. He chuckled bitterly as he held the vial, as memories of that time threatened to overwhelm him in his already vulnerable state. It was a wonder, he thought, that he wasn't hallucinating Amber as well. He tossed back a few of the pills, catching the movement in the mirror that wasn't unlike one he had often seen House perform, only serving to cause his anxiety to ratchet up a few more notches. He found himself sitting on the edge of his tub waiting for the nausea to pass, taking several deep breaths. Might as well stay in the bathroom if he was going to throw up, better the toilet than in his bed.

By the time he decided sitting the bathroom the rest of the night was not only useless, but going to wreak havoc on his back, he stumbled to his bed. In no time, the combination of Alprazolam and the sheer exhaustion brought on by his worry and emotional upheaval, rendered him fast asleep.

_He rushed through the crowded ER, pushing nurses and other doctors aside, relief flooding through him as he heard her voice._

_ "I am a doctor and I say I am fine."_

_ He closed his eyes and offered a prayer to a God that he had neglected for so long, thanking Him for sparing her and promising he would be at Temple on the very next Shabbat and every Shabbat after that in gratitude._

_ "Amber." He said, voice not as steady as he would have liked as he pulled aside the flimsy privacy curtain. He let out a shaky breath as he took in the sight of her, clothes dirty, blood splattered, hair a mess and her face sporting several darkening bruises and a few lacerations. He quickly went to her, pulling her into his arms and a tight but gentle embrace, mindful that she might still have other unseen injuries, especially since the nurse talking to her had been adamant about her staying put and receiving care._

He moaned in his sleep, shifting onto his side, arms pulling a nearby pillow to his chest.

_He felt her arms go around him and pull him even close, she tried to speak, but he interrupted her. "Shhhh….it's okay, you're okay." He murmured and he felt, more than heard her sob against his chest. Now that he knew she was okay, other questions were flooding through his mind. She was supposed to be at home. What was she doing on a bus at this time of the night? In that part of town?_

_ Amber pushed him away, wincing in pain as he stumbled back away from her, surprised by her strength. "No, no it's not." She actually yelled at him. He now noticed the tear streaks running through the dirt and blood on her face, noticed that there was far too much blood on her clothes for it to be hers, given she was conscious. He glanced down, his own white shirt and pale blue tie were spotted red with it, just from hugging her. _

_ "What?" he asked, his eyes wide and every nerve in his body instantly wired as they had been when he got a call from the ER telling him Amber was there. He looked up at her. She wasn't possibly injured worse than he had thought. No i.v.'s , no oxygen and she was still in her own clothes, still perched on the side of the gurney. Alert, conscious and she appeared to be orientated, despite her outburst. She was okay, given the circumstances. Why wouldn't everything be okay? He reached out to Amber to hug her again, but she leaned away._

_ "He's gone." She stated quietly, her voice calmer than before but still with an unusual edge of hysteria to it._

_ "Who? Who's gone?" He asked, confused. Who was she talking about?_

_ "House."_

_ He grinned then. "Of course he is, you expect him to be around here this time of night when he doesn't have a patient? He left hours ago, even before quitting time if I recall." He would see to it that she got an MRI soon. She must have hit her head harder than they thought._

_ She shook her head. "No. Yes, yes he did leave early. He went to Sherri's, got himself so drunk they took away his keys." She stopped, taking a ragged breath to fight the hysteria that was near to taking over._

_ He stared at her, brows furrowing. That sounded like something House would do. House had left early, he did remember correctly, remembered seeing the darkened conference room and House's equally dark and deserted office._

He was turning in his bed, the pillow that he had cradled to his chest was now precariously balanced on the edge of the bed as his body reacted to the stream of images that his dreaming subconscious was sending him.

_He couldn't understand why House's leaving work to get drunk bothered her so much. "Wait. How do you know that is what he did?" He asked, rapidly coming to a conclusion that he did not like, that his mind was reeling to get away from._

_ She sniffled as she tried to pull herself together. "He called me. About an hour ago. He was looking for you to come get him, to come fix all his messes like you usually do. You were still at work, so I figured I would go get him myself. He was an ass, he kept arguing with me and stalked off to get the bus instead of letting me drive him home. He left his cane at the bar, so I grabbed it and hurried after him to give it to him and try to change his mind." She hiccuped and gave a short ugly sounding laugh. "You know he can…could move quick for a cripple. He was already on the bus when I caught up to him. I sat down across from him and handed him his cane. We argued some more and then there was this bright light and so much noise…." Tears were returning and she cradled her bruised ribs. "Some asshole ran a red light and crashed into the bus….there was nothing I could do. He was gone before the firefighters and paramedics could get to him." She finished, glancing up to see if Wilson understood what she meant now._

_ He stared at her, then shook his head as if to clear the words he had just heard out of his head. She was wrong. Had to be wrong. House was indestructible. "No. You made a mistake. He can't be de….gone." He couldn't even think it, let alone say it. What was she thinking? She had to have injured her head worse than they had thought to be coming up with nonsense like this. Maybe House was a little worse for the wear, but he was sure going to be pissed when he found Amber had left him for dead._

_ Her eyes widened as she watched Wilson's reaction. The doctor in her instantly recognizing shock. "James, James…I'm sorry." She said, reaching out for him._

_ He stumbled back, his head still shaking back in forth. "You are wrong. You're wrong." He said plaintively as part of him understood that she was telling the truth. He stopped moving as he saw her tentatively get off the gurney and take a step toward him. He let her embrace him as he processed the fact that his best friend was dead._

The pillow on the edge of the bed had been kicked to the floor in his frantic tossing and turning. His legs were all entangled with his sheet and blanket, his body fighting both the distressing images of his nightmare and the restriction caused by the bedding. Soft cries filled the room as he voiced his distress, but there weren't loud enough to wake him and bring him out of his misery.

_He accepted her comfort, but he gently pushed her back to the gurney, helping her up onto it again. "Sit, you shouldn't be up, not until someone says it's okay." He held his hand up. "I know you are a doctor, but…." He trailed off. Focusing on Amber gave him something else to contemplate, but the words 'House is gone' still were echoing over and over._

_ Amber watched him carefully. She knew that essentially she was okay. Cut and bruised, her breath hitched as she took a deep breath, maybe some broken or cracked ribs, but she was okay. She knew she was lucky. "They brought him here." She said softly, running a hand up and down his arm slowly. "Go on. I'll be fine and won't move until you get back, okay?" she told him, her heart breaking at the lost, agonized look on his face._

_ He wanted to go. Wanted to see House, needed to see House as there was still this voice of hope that was trying to convince him Amber was wrong and oh how he wanted to believe it. He wouldn't accept House being gone until he saw him. Amber seemed fine, kept stating she was fine and she was in the middle of an ER just in case something did go wrong. He kissed her gently and turned to head for the morgue. He was tempted to go to House's office instead, positive If he did so, House would be up there, perhaps drinking out of the illicit bottle of bourbon he kept stashed in his drawer. His finger hovered over the second floor button before quickly punching the basement one._

_ There was more activity in the morgue than usual for this time of the evening. There were multiple fatalities in the accident and Princeton Plainsboro was getting their share. The attendant nodded at Wilson, face full of open pity as she pointed towards one of the refrigerator doors, knowing who Wilson was here for and glad she had taken a few precious minutes to clean him up a little. Not, for the grumpy doctor himself, but for the kindly Dr. Wilson whom she had been expecting when she had recognized House._

_ He hesitated before opening the door and then again when he had slid the slab out before he reached to pull back the sheet draped over his friend's body. He prayed for it all to be a joke, prayed that House would sit up suddenly when Wilson pulled back the sheet, yelling 'boo', just to scare the bejesus out of him. He slowly pulled the sheet back to give House the opportunity to do just that, but he didn't. Tears filled his eyes as he looked down on the face of his friend. There were many cuts on his face and neck from the shattered glass, but as cliché as it sounded, he did look more peaceful than Wilson had ever seen him when he wasn't at his piano. He began to shake. This wasn't real. This couldn't be. He slapped lightly at House's cheek. "Come on, stop it. Stop fucking around. This isn't funny, this is going too far House, come on…." He pleaded, the tears beginning to fall from his eyes. "Come on House." he whimpered again, letting his head rest on House's cold shoulder as he began to sob. _

_ It wasn't fair. He often joked about being House's only friend, but didn't the bastard know he was Wilson's only true friend as well? The only one he could rely on to tell him the truth, to make him face things he would rather not face. How could House do this to him? Sure, he had Amber now and Amber was as direct and tactless as House was at time times, but no matter how much House said she was a proxy for him, she wasn't. She could never fill his shoes in Wilson's life. He loved Amber and was glad she was in his life, but that didn't mean that he needed House any less now._

_ "Bastard." He choked against House's corpse. They were supposed to have more time. More 'custody' nights where House took him out, got him drunk and made him laugh. There was supposed to be many more moments when they were sharing a conversation and he would unwittingly say something that would make that 'aha- why the fuck didn't I think of that before?' look cross House's face and then House would get up without saying a word and quickly limp away to save another life, never telling Wilson exactly what it was that he had said which triggered his flash of genius. There were still uncountable lunches that House was supposed to mooch off him. Whose couch was he going to sleep on now, when Amber got tired of him, when she saw the real him? When he messed up and slept with a much needier woman and Amber tossed him out? Where was he going to go then? Whose conscience was he going to be now? He certainly didn't want to be his own._

_ He jumped as he felt a hand come to rest between his shoulder blades. He turned and saw Amber. "You shouldn't be here, you belong back in the ER, being observed." He said, wiping his eyes and trying to control himself, taking in her incredibly pale appearance and the blood dripping from the cut above her eyebrow that would not stop bleeding. "Let's get you…." And he paused as the room grew incredibly bright and started to spin. There was some kind of alarm starting to go off, that was growing louder and louder._

He opened his eyes, confused, still expecting to be in the morgue, but as he took in his surroundings, he realized he was in a bed and not just any bed, but his own and was facing the windows whose blinds had not been shut. It had to be well past noon for that amount of light to be shining in. Then it hit him. Morgue. Amber. Accident. Amber telling him House had died. He must have passed out or become so hysterical that Amber had given him something. That would explain the fogginess and cotton taste in his mouth. It didn't quite make sense though, why was he home? Amber wasn't in any condition to get him here by herself if he was drugged. Where was Amber? He shook his head and exactly what in hell had she given him? He knew he still wasn't connecting all the dots correctly. House. He swallowed a sob. Had Cuddy or someone notified his parents yet? He both hoped that they had and that they hadn't. If they had, it would save him making the horrible call and trying to keep it together for their sake, but if they hadn't, then he knew he could do it himself. That he could break the news gently. If he got going and left now, he could be at House's parent's place well before evening. It would be better in person, he thought. He pushed away the memories of House slipping him ten dollars every time he had been thanked after delivering a death sentence.

He stood up and stumbled for the bathroom and was almost there when he heard a noise. "Amber?" he called, making his way toward the living room instead. It was empty when he got there, but he noticed his phone and a mostly empty bottle of wine on the coffee table. That didn't add up. Amber would not have let him drink after drugging him. He thought for a second, trying to piece the evening together. House could have helped, he was good and piecing together the blanks in wasted evenings, but as he thought of House, a horrible, almost physical pain slammed him in the gut. He closed his eyes as he saw House's battered face from the morgue- pale, bloody, bruised and cold. He was nearly hyperventilating when his phone began to beep again. Someone must have called and left a message. He went for it out of habit.

"You have one new message." The phone intoned and he quickly hit play.

"Good morning, Dr. Wilson, it is Dr. Nolan. I hope that you did as we had agreed, regarding any possible communication you might receive from Dr. House. I am aware that he had access to the phones last night and I would bet good money it was you that he tried to contact. I know it must not have been easy for you to refuse him. If you want to talk about it, please feel free to give me a call."

His knees gave out and he sank to the couch, the phone still clutched in his hand, while the other reached for the wine bottle. Bits and pieces of the previous evening now came clearly floating back to him. House was at Mayfield Psychiatric. He had denied House's request for help in getting out and hung up on him. Doing so had torn him apart, made him feel guilty and nervous so he had basically dosed himself and the rest had been nothing more than a dream, a nightmare. Simply a product of his incredible guilt complex and nagging subconscious. Even now he was feeling guilty because of the relief he felt at the way things hadn't happened as they had in his dream, that he had lost Amber not House. Time had given him a different perspective because right after the accident there was a time he would have gladly exchanged House's life for hers, but that had passed. He loved Amber deeply, but a friend of over twenty years versus a girlfriend of a few short months? He would have punched anyone who would have said something like that to him right after losing her and for awhile after, but now was different. It was especially different upon waking and thinking his friend, the one person who had always seen the real him and been there for him, even though at times it didn't seem like it, was gone.

He wasn't gone though, Wilson thought happily. He was still alive. House wasn't in a good place, mentally speaking, but he was getting the help he needed and they would get through this. He had once told House that although the saying was 'you didn't get to choose your family, he didn't think you got to choose your friends either'. It hadn't seemed to make that much sense to House, who then had to clarify there were indeed still friends, and Wilson now understood why it had even sounded odd to his own ears when he had said it. House simply wasn't just his friend, House was family. He set the bottle of wine back down on the coffee table. He couldn't drink now, although it was past noon and five o'clock somewhere in the world. He had to be sober so he could get to Mayfield. He had to talk to House. He had so many things to apologize for, so many things to tell him and promises to make. He took a quick shower and then dropped by House's apartment to pack him up some new clothes. He soon was on the road to Mayfield.

It wasn't until the imposing gray structure was in sight that he thought through what he was doing. This was late Saturday afternoon, odds of Dr. Nolan being in his office were slim. Even if he was in time for set visiting hours, House hadn't contacted him saying that he was allowed visitors. Not that he would, if was- unless he wanted Wilson to bring him something. Wilson smiled at that thought. A few months ago it would have made him angry, bitter and feeling a bit used, but after last night, he was immensely grateful House was still alive. That, and having to stay with House those few days before the spot in Mayfield opened up, seeing him tired and defeated, he had a new way of looking at House and some of his behaviours. He also knew that deep down, no matter what House had asked to bring him, nothing would have been more important to House than Wilson actually showing up.

It wasn't just those obstacles. Now that he was here, if he was allowed to visit House, he had no idea what he was going to say. Although he had come to the realization of how important House was to him and how much their friendship meant to him, the knowledge that most of House's bluster was a façade- House was still essentially House and one simply didn't throw their arms around him and bestow flowery declarations of love and fealty upon him. Fealty might be accepted- from a distance that did not require Wilson being in House's personal space. Feelings, especially messy ones like the ones Wilson was definitely feeling were still something House would avoid at all costs. There was also the possibility of House simply refusing to see him, even if Wilson was allowed inside. Wilson couldn't stop smiling despite these worries. House was alive and he was determined to make House understand how happy that made him.

A short time later, after a phone call to Dr. Nolan's private residences, he was walking down the halls of Mayfield with him.

"This is highly unusual. Dr. House has not been cooperating and following his treatment plan, thus earning the privilege of visitations. After his stunt yesterday in which he hurt his roommate, procured for another patient an illicit dose of Haloperidol, he shouldn't be getting any privileges at all." Dr. Nolan said, but he had been moved by Wilson's story and thought that maybe the visit might make House realize there were people that cared about him. He ushered Wilson into his office and then went to find House.

Wilson was staring out the window when the door to Nolan's office creaked open and he heard House's signature 'step….thump' as he limped in. He turned and couldn't help the sharp inhale of breath. House looked awful. His stubble had grown in thicker, pretty much way past stubble and approaching full beard stage. His hair had been cropped so close that it almost looked buzzed. There was far more grey than Wilson recalled there being just scant over a month ago. There were dark circles under his eyes and what scared Wilson the most was the listless almost lifeless look in those blood shot pale blue eyes. It was almost like looking at the corpse's face in his dream.

"Jesus, House." he gasped, taking a few steps towards him, only stopping at House's glare and almost imperceptible flinch back away from Wilson's advance.

"What do you want?" House asked, his voice sounding just as worn and bedraggled as he looked.

"I….I just wanted to apologize….for hanging up on you." Wilson stammered.

House laughed bitterly, a bit of fight entering him. "Fine. You just did. Go. Your pathetic gesture of caring, your false concern offered, YOUR," he stressed the word, "version of a guilty conscience eased. Get out." He turned and headed for the door himself, stopping as his hand came to rest on the door knob. "Go forth and sin now more. Stop pretending you care when you don't, just so you can play the wounded martyr." He said, turning the knob, only to find it locked from the outside. He jiggled it viciously before resorting to pounding on the heavy wooden door and yelling to be let out.

Wilson was grateful for what Nolan had obviously done, but the noise was getting on his nerves. He came up behind House and grabbed his arm before he could swing at the door again. "Stop it and be quiet." He said loudly, taking slight appreciation in the shocked look that crossed House's features. "I am sorry I hung up on you, but I had to and you know it, even if you won't admit it."

House just sneered at him, trying to move away. "No, you didn't and you are only here and sorry because turning away a supposed friend in need doesn't fit with the false image you have of yourself." He hissed, focusing a very ugly stare on Wilson. "Nice to find that the one person in this world that I trusted and depended on wasn't much of a friend at all."

Wilson's eyes widened. It was a big admission from House, that he had trusted and depended on Wilson and it only made Wilson feel worse. He shook his head. "You're wrong House. I am sorry, but that isn't the entire reason I am here." He gestured helplessly as he tried to compose himself, knowing what he wanted to tell House, but lacking the words.

"So. What is the other reason you are here?" House asked after Wilson didn't continue, his arms folded across himself defiantly. He had looked closely at Wilson though and the man looked like he was about to fall apart at the seams. He hated himself for caring.

"I dreamed you had died."

"So you are here because you feel guilty. HAH. And I am considered the selfish one."

Wilson sighed. "No. Will you just for once, shut up and listen? Shut up and actually hear what I am saying instead of what you want to hear?" Wilson yelled in frustration.

House figured that Nolan was on the other side of that door and the only way it was going to be unlocked, thus letting him escape was if he let Wilson have his say. He could do that. Words were nothing to him. He found out all he needed to know about Wilson last night when Wilson had hung up on him. "Speak then."

He hadn't expected House to give in so easy, but his anger faded quickly. He wasn't here to fight with House. "I'm sorry."

"So you keep saying. Fine. You are forgiven. All better now?" God, anything to get back to his room and his book.

"You're just saying that, but I didn't come here to fight." Wilson raised his hands up in a surrendering gesture. "Maybe you are partly right, my coming here is to ease my own conscience, but I dreamed you were dead, House. Dead and gone." He said quietly, sighing and biting his lower lip. "It hurt like hell. I woke up and I still thought you were gone for the most horrible five minutes of my life. You no longer existed. No one who really knew me existed on this planet anymore, I wouldn't ever see you walk into my office demanding lunch or bouncing ideas off me until you got your aha moment. No one to sit around to watch tv and mock people with, " he said, his voice breaking.

House remained quiet. So far it was all about Wilson, a small smirk grew on his face.

"I just…. I needed you to know how much you mean to me. I was lost when Amber died and I pushed you away. I told you that we weren't friends anymore and I don't think I ever told a bigger lie than that, not to you or to myself. I just…. I am glad you didn't die in that accident. I got over Amber. Not so sure I would have gotten over you." He finished quietly.

"I am glad I didn't die too, but you didn't seem so happy about it back then. In fact, if I remember, you were pretty damn set on me risking my life to save her." House threw back at him. They had patched their friendship up, months later, but there were still gaping wounds that House picked at when he was alone and that was one of them. Wilson had never apologized for any of it and House, strangely enough, wanted to hear those words now. He didn't want Wilson just apologizing for generalities, for Wilson's own guilt, but heartfelt ones for specific events. He snorted and pushed the thought away. Wilson wasn't capable and right now, to be honest, House didn't want to forgive.

"I was wrong. I shouldn't have asked you for the deep brain stimulation. I know you were injured, sick and hurting yourself, I know that now, but back then I couldn't see past Amber and I am sorry for that."

"Fine. Is that all you wanted?" House said, keeping his tone flat. He had got the apology he had wanted, but all he could think of was that click and dial tone he heard last night when he reached out for Wilson.

Wilson didn't quite know what to do. It hadn't been the reaction he had been looking for. He knew that tone, he knew House was shutting down, shutting him out and there wasn't anything he could do about it. "You are my best friend and I love you." He tried, the basis of his realization and the essence of what he had traveled here to say.

House stood there silently, half of him wanting to take Wilson at face value, but the other half, the walled in half that he had spent his life perfecting to keep him from more pain and hurt, not believing anything that Wilson said. That half one won out. "Good for you." He said, turning to jiggle the door handle again and this time it opened to an empty hallway, with Dr. Nolan nowhere in sight. He kept his gaze from Wilson and looked to the ground. "Find your own way out." He mumbled and limped off down the hallway.

Wilson stared after him, but didn't chase him. He had said what he needed to, planted the notion in House's head that someone did in fact love him. It was all he could do, and to be honest this was the reaction he had expected. He had hoped for otherwise though but couldn't help but feel disappointed.

Dr. Nolan walked in. "That went better than I had hoped." He said, surprising Wilson from his reverie.

"Went well? He walked out on me. He doesn't believe me. He thinks I am here out of some twisted sense of guilt."

"You are. That doesn't, however, invalidate your feelings for him. You care about his feelings and are guilty because you have hurt him." Nolan said, sitting behind his desk and carefully studying Wilson. "Took you long enough to realize he does have feelings." He added though, trying to provoke a reaction.

Wilson glared at him. "I've always known he had feelings," he defended himself, "but he needs to admit to having them."

"Agreed, and he will if he remains here and does the work needed. You did all you could do today, and although you aren't satisfied, I think maybe you have done more good here than you think you did." Dr. Nolan allowed.

Wilson nodded, but still felt his trip was for naught. He felt good that he had admitted House's worth to House himself, but also felt he had failed because he knew House didn't believe the motivation behind his apology and admission. He wearily headed for the same door House had exited from. "Keep me informed?" he asked.

"I can't betray patient / doctor privilege. How much you are involved is up to him. Give him time though. He can receive mail. Write to him." Dr. Nolan suggested. "And if you need someone to talk to, I don't see any problem if you visit me, professionally." He added.

Wilson nodded and headed out, already composing his first letter to House in his head on his way back to Princeton.


End file.
